


‘The Calligraphy of Lovers’

by Fixy



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Soulmates AU, biros and sharpies, murder and erotic novels, mystery and google
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:34:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26231986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fixy/pseuds/Fixy
Summary: Villanelle… did not write that.“I didn’t write that.” Villanelle says to literally no one, because no one is in her Parisian flat but her. “I did not write that.”OrThe soulmate au where anything you write on your skin appears on the skin of your soulmate.For KE week day 1
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 63
Kudos: 467
Collections: Killing Eve Week 2020





	‘The Calligraphy of Lovers’

It starts at 11am on a Wednesday. 

The back of Villanelle’s wrist tickles while she does her makeup, so she slaps it absentmindedly. A fly or a hair or something.

The tickling continues, a very specific pressure against her skin. 

Villanelle slaps it again, then brings her wrist to her chest and rubs it distractedly while continuing to stare at herself in the mirror. 

The tickling continues still, directly beneath her fingertips. 

She fully registers it now. 

Drawing her hand back and frowning, she goes to examine the area, expecting a scratch she’d somehow missed.

It’s not a scratch. 

It’s…

A date?

_ June 14th _

Villanelle… did not write that.

“I didn’t write that.” Villanelle says to literally no one, because no one is in her Parisian flat but her. “I did  _ not _ write that.”

Or… did she? Maybe she did. But the writing is all loops and curves, a hasty cursive. Villanelle’s own writing is totally interchangeable, of course, but she tends to stick to simple, boxy shapes and straight lines for herself.

There is no explanation for the message on her wrist, absolutely none, so Villanelle tries to assume that she must have written it after all, because who else would have done? She would have noticed someone scribbling on her in… blue biro ink? 

Villanelle doesn’t think she even owns a biro. She uses sharpies, permanent and bold. 

She stares at the date again. 

_ June 14th _

Villanelle has no plans for that day, only four away from today. A quick mental check and she confirms that she has no work or assignments that day either, so why-

Oh.

Another mark appears on Villanelle’s wrist. 

It starts at the top and drags itself down to create a smooth blue line, right there on Villanelle’s skin. She stares as a second line appears at the top but it starts to slide to the right before finishing quickly, followed by the same again just below it. 

Villanelle can only watch as five letters appear out of thin air. 

Fox Ln

“What the fuck.” Villanelle questions the empty room, because what else is she supposed to say? There is  _ ink _ appearing on her  _ hand _ . “Am I asleep?”

Villanelle picks up a nearby knife and presses her fingertips to the point of the blade. 

“Mm,” she ponders as it stings, a drop of blood welling where metal meets skin, “not asleep.”

She feels like she should be freaking out more than she is but, honestly, the whole thing is just so bizarre and impossible that she can’t quite find it in herself to start yelling. So instead, she opens google on her phone. 

_ ‘Writing appearing on my hand‘  _

The search yields… poor results. Writer’s cramp, how to describe hands, and ‘the simple joy of writing by hand’. 

_ ‘Someone is writing on my hand’ _

Again, nothing, just some stuff about ink being bad for your skin and what your handwriting says about you. She saves that link for later. What  _ does _ her handwriting say about her? 

_ ‘What the fucking fuck is happening on my hand’ _

That just opens a whole world of really grim rash images, so she closes the tab and sits back heavily in her dressing table chair. 

Fine. If google won’t help, then she will help herself. She plans and orchestrates assassinations, so finding out what  _ this _ is should be easy. 

Villanelle stares at the ink on her wrist, then touches it. It doesn’t feel like ink, there’s no sticky residue, yet it clearly sits on her skin. She can see the inky blue spread between the tiny lines on her wrist, but it feels as though nothing is there at all. 

She heads to the kitchen and soaks a towel then dabs it against the ink. The towel stays clean. She tries rubbing instead, rubbing until the cotton starts to turn her skin pink, but still the ink remains. 

Okay, so, the message probably wasn’t written directly onto Villanelle’s own skin by a ghost. Or it was, and it’ll never come off. Ever. She has always kind of wanted a tattoo but this isn’t exactly what she had in mind. 

She bites the cuticle around her thumbnail as she leans back against the counter and thinks. Should she leave it a while and see if it fades? See if anything else appears?

Or maybe she could write something back?

Now  _ that’s _ an exciting thought. 

Villanelle rushes to her sitting area with a skip and rummages around in a dresser until she finds a normal pen. The point hovers above her skin as she thinks of what she could write back. 

_ Hello? _

She starts simple, not wanting to anger the ghost. Who knows who it could be? If ghosts are real, then there will be a  _ lot _ lining up to haunt her. 

Then she waits. 

She waits a minute. Five. Fifteen. The excitement dwindles with each passing second, and eventually she drops her head back against the cushions. Maybe if she distracts herself with something, enough time will pass and they’ll write back. 

Villanelle heads back into her room and continues to apply her makeup, ready for her job that afternoon, trying to clear her mind of the quiet yet life changing situation occurring. Easy. She is good at that. 

It doesn’t work, obviously, because everything is boring and a magical entity is writing on her skin. 

With a sigh, she tilts back in her chair and stares down at her wrist until her eyes blur. 

——

When she feels her wrist tickle again, she’s showering blood from her ankles. The guy was a spurter. 

“Oh,” she says while covered in soap bubbles, “merde- ah- where-” she rinses hurriedly then shuts the water off, hopping out of the shower and straight into a robe before racing into her living room and dropping onto the couch. 

She stares eagerly at her wrist. 

There’s a line, the same blue as before, striking right through her own ‘hello?’.

Villanelle huffs. 

“Rude.” She says to no one. 

And then another line strikes through, crossing over the first, harsher than before and pressing deeper into her skin. 

“Ow!” She grunts, because  _ ow _ , and then she’s angrily grabbing the pen from earlier and writing  _ ow _ on her wrist by the crossed out  _ hello? _ , because  _ ow _ !

She only has to wait a beat before another mark appears. 

_? _

Villanelle squeaks giddily. Seems as though whoever is on the other side of her… wrist, is as confused as she is. 

_ Hi _ Villanelle writes nearer to her knuckles, starting to branch out across her hand. 

Two more marks appear, adding onto her greeting. 

_?! _

Okay, this person is taking their mystery a little harder than Villanelle is. With excitement churning in her stomach, she gets ready to write again, before-

_ Are you a ghost? _

Villanelle laughs at the message, the lettering smaller than the previous scribbles but still in that cursive font.

_ I thought that too about you _ Villanelle writes back, curving it along the outside of her hand. 

There’s another pause, and suddenly Villanelle feels the tickling pressure on her forearm near her elbow. 

_ Is this real? Am I dead?  _ They write. __

Villanelle laughs again. 

_ I don’t know, are you? _

_ No.  _ They write, and then-

_ Fuck off _

Villanelle isn’t laughing anymore.

_ Rude _ , Villanelle writes for real,  _ who are you? _

_ Eve _

As soon as she sees those three beautiful letters, they start to vanish. Villanelle watches as the letters fade, swiped out of existence from left to right as if the words are being hastily wiped away. 

_ Ha, too late, I saw it.  _ Villanelle writes with a grin. _ Hi Eve _

_ Fine _ . Eve writes.  _ Your turn. Who are you? _

Villanelle settles back against the sofa, buzzing with excitement as whatever this is.

_ I’m not going to tell you that, Eve _ , she writes carefully, trying to keep her writing small,  _ that would be silly. You are a stranger _

_ Oh come on,  _ they write back, _ that’s not fair, I told you my name. You might still be a ghost, you never answered that _

_ Or a demon.  _ Villanelle writes back with a smirk. 

_ Are you a demon? _

_ Some might say that. _ Oh, Villanelle is having fun here. 

_ Okay, but… are you?  _ Eve writes. 

_ No, actual demons are not real. _ Villanelle writes. This new game is the most fun she has had in a long time. How long will it last?  _ Is all of this appearing on your arm? _

_ Yes,  _ Eve writes back, _ is yours? _

_ Yes,  _ Villanelle writes.  _ Weird.  _

A moment of stillness, then-

_ What’s your name? _

Villanelle crinkles her nose in amusement. 

_ Nope! _

Villanelle feels pressure on her skin as if someone is pushing a pen there, unsure of what to write, until the blue ink begins to slope across her forearm again.

_ Okay, I am going to wash my arm now.  _

Villanelle frowns. This is not how the game is supposed to go. 

_ No,  _ Villanelle writes,  _ don’t go  _

Eventually she sees some writing begin to form, cramped in the small amount of skin space left. 

_ How about just a letter? I can’t call you demon  _

Villanelle considers this. She bites her lip. 

_ V _

A whole minute passes without so much as a speck of ink, until-

_ V is a dumb name  _

Okay, now the game is less fun. 

_ It is not!  _ Villanelle scribbles with a scowl. 

_ Then tell me your real name  _

_ No,  _ Villanelle huffs to herself as she writes, _ I won’t _

Nothing appears on her arm for a good few minutes, no matter how much Villanelle wills it to. 

She gasps as she sees half of the wording start to vanish in great swoops, a flannel or something clearly being dragged forcibly over the writing. Eve’s messages start to fade, but Villanelle’s own words remain. 

_ Spoil sport, _ Villanelle writes in large letters, taking up most of her forearm. 

_Go wash your arm,_ appears in commanding script beneath her insult, _I_ _look like homework._

And if Villanelle leaves her writing there on her skin for another 12 hours, well, that’s Eve’s problem. 

——

On Thursday evening, Villanelle has a job. Some chef at a restaurant has been laundering money or something and needs to be taken care of, so she slips on her waitressing costume and heads out. She reels off her memorised information given to her by Konstantin to the manager on duty,  _ I’m Elouise, I’m the new hire, yes that’s the one, hired by Claud, yes yes _ , all in perfect french, then begins her shift. 

The kill isn’t planned until the dinner rush begins, so Villanelle has a couple of hours of genuine waitressing to do before she can act. 

There are six other waiting staff working alongside her right now, including two young women who won’t stop whispering to each other every chance they get. They’re beautiful, Villanelle notes, and it’s a shame she can’t do anything about it and risk having them recognise her later, but she hovers near them nonetheless. Could be fun to flirt a little to make the time pass quicker. 

“It was beautiful,” one of them says in lilting french, “you have to read it.”

“I’ll read anything by her,” the other woman replies, “even a weird soulmate fantasy.”

“It’s not weird,” the first one defends, “it’s magical! I wish I’d wake up to find drawings on  _ my _ skin.” 

Villanelle is suddenly alert. 

“Hey,” she interrupts, gliding into their conversation smoothly, “what are you talking about? It sounds nice.”

“Oh, uh,” the first woman is startled but recovers fast, smile growing excited at having someone else interested, “it is a romance novel, ugh, it is so beautiful.”

“Nice,” Villanelle fakes a smile and nods, “what is it about? You said something about drawings…?”

“In this world,” she begins, “when the time comes, anything you write or draw on your skin will appear on your soulmates skin. If you never write on your skin or if your soulmate doesn’t then you will never find them, but if you do…” the woman shrugs with a grin, “you could end up finding your true love.”

“Wow,” Villanelle tries to calm her racing heart, “sounds romantic. What is it called?”

“‘The Calligraphy of Lovers’,” she sighs, “you must read it.” 

“Oh I will,” Villanelle nods, already burning the title into her mind, the terrible,  _ terrible _ title, “thank you.”

The next hours pass in a blur. The murder passes in a blur. The walk away from the restaurant as screams start to rise from it is a blur. 

When she’s far enough away, enough distance placed between herself and the crime scene, Villanelle pulls out her phone and opens google. 

_ ‘The Calligraphy of Lovers’ _

...terrible title.

——

_ Eve _ , she writes smoothly onto her forearm,  _ are you there?  _

She makes herself dinner while she waits for a reply, but when none comes she writes again. 

_ I know why this is happening to us _

This time, Eve’s reply is immediate.

_ What is it? _

Villanelle smiles. Eve is so curious. She wonders if Eve works for the police, or the government? Or maybe a teacher? Hm, maybe not the patience for a teaching role. A detective? Someone whose job it is to find answers and learn. 

_ Google ‘The Calligraphy of Lovers’. It is a book _

_ That is a terrible title _

_ I know,  _ Villanelle grins as she writes,  _ but you should trust me and search anyway _

_ Fine, hold on _

Villanelle waits. 

_ No _ .

It is exactly what Villanelle had expected her soulmate to say. 

_ You cannot deny it though, can you.  _ Villanelle writes.  _ That is exactly what is happening to us _

_ Yes but it’s a coincidence _ , Eve’s writing is jerky and comes in fits and starts,  _ it’s not real _

_ Okay, but you and I are literally writing on our skin to each other? So _

_ No _

Villanelle rolls her eyes 

_ Okay Eve, come back when you have matured. I am starting to worry that you might be quite young, with the way you react to things  _

_ I’m 46! _

_ Oh _ , Villanelle writes, pleasantly surprised,  _ sexy _

_ Do not.  _ Eve writes _.  _ Then- _ how old are you?  _

_ 27 _

_ Oh god _

_ I know! Look at you Eve,  _ Villanelle writes, _ a younger woman for a soulmate _

_ The  _ _ woman _ _ part of that sentence is what’s most surprising.  _ Eve underlines ‘woman’ twice, hurting Villanelle a little with the sting of her pen press. 

_ Oh?  _ Villanelle writes. 

_ Well I am married to a man _

The wording doesn’t affect Villanelle, however. She’s always had a thing for married women, and the husband never makes a difference to what happens, really. 

The wording is suddenly hastily wiped away leaving a blue smear. 

_ Why am I telling you this, I don’t even know you _

_ Because we’re soulmates _ , Villanelle writes with a smile. She even draws a smiley face, a little  _ :) _ next to her words. 

_ It’ll take more than some trashy erotic novel and blocky font on my arm to convince me of that _

Villanelle grins. 

_ So you’re open to convincing? _

_ Not what I meant _ is Eve’s quick reply, but Villanelle keeps smiling anyway. 

_ You are being nice to me today _ , Villanelle writes. 

_ Am I?  _

_ Yes, so I will tell you something about me _

_ I’m not a dog that deserves a reward… _

Villanelle laughs. Eve is funny!

_ No, but you are being nice so I will be nice _

She waits for Eve’s reply. 

_ Okay…  _

_ Instead of V, you can call me Vil _

_ Vil? Is that short for something? _

_ Is Eve? _

_ Maybe _

_ Then maybe _

_ Ugh you’re annoying  _

_ I know _

——

The first thing she does when she wakes on Friday is check her arm. 

There’s nothing there, but blank skin won’t deter Villanelle. She is a very persistent person. 

_ Good morning soulmate _ she writes carefully, not wanting to startle Eve awake with the potential pain from the pen. 

_ Still not soulmates _ , Eve’s worlds appear,  _ but good morning _

_ Are you an early riser too? _

_ More like a never sleeper  _

_ Why’s that?  _ Villanelle wants to know everything. 

_ Work stress  _

_ What do you do? _

_ I can’t tell you,  _ Eve writes.

_ Okay _

_ Wait, you’re not going to badger me for more info? _

_ No _ , Villanelle writes,  _ I am not allowed to talk about my job either. I get it _

_ Oh,  _ Eve writes, then pauses, then writes again,  _ maybe we do the same thing? _

_ I doubt that, but maybe :) _

She’ll let Eve believe that she’s not dying to know what she does for work, ready to literally tear herself apart just to know something real about the woman beyond ‘Eve’, but she knows Eve won’t like that. So, she is behaving. It is new for her! And strange. 

_ What do you look like, Eve? _

There are moments of nothing, of staring intently at her arm. 

_ You first _

And villanelle will never pass up a chance to talk about her own looks, never. 

_ I’m just under 5’7”, long blonde hair, hazel eyes, beautiful face _

_ So modest _

_ You haven’t seen it yet, _ Villanelle grins as she writes,  _ you’ll agree, trust me  _

_ Yet? _

_ Yet.  _ Villanelle writes _. Now, your turn _

_ Okay,  _ Eve writes slowly, _ I’m about 5’6”, korean heritage, curly black hair _

_ Curly?  _ Villanelle writes hastily. 

_ So curly, huge, it’s a nightmare _

_ Curly hair is amazing,  _ Villanelle writes _ , I’m jealous. I bet you are beautiful too _

_ Hm,  _ Eve writes dismissively _. Where do you live? _

Ah. Eve must be dwelling on the ‘yet’, thinking Villanelle might somehow appear on her street in the coming days. 

It would not be a terrible assumption to make. 

_ Paris,  _ Villanelle decides to be honest,  _ you? _

_ London. Are you french? _

_ No. Are you English? _

_ No.  _

Villanelle laughs delightedly. 

_ We are so mysterious!  _ She writes. _ We really are soulmates!  _

_ We’re something alright,  _ Eve writes, and Villanelle will take it. 

_ —— _

On Saturday, Eve writes first. 

_ What do you do when you’re not working? _

_ Hi Eve _

_ Yeah, hi  _

Villanelle grins. Eve is so blunt and direct, she does not bother with small talk, she is just straight to the point. Villanelle likes that. 

_ Work out,  _ Villanelle scribbles _ , eat out, watch movies _

_ What kind of movies do you like? _

_ All of them,  _ Villanelle writes, then gets up to make a drink, champagne with a little freshly squeezed orange juice in celebration of Eve’s messages. 

_ I like movies too _

_ What is your favourite?  _ Villanelle writes, eager to know. 

_ Notting Hill _

Villanelle rolls her eyes

_ Okay,  _ she writes,  _ now what is your  _ _ actual _ _ favourite? _

_ How did you know? _

_ It’s the kind of movie someone says is their favourite just to cover for the fact that their favourite is embarrassing. So what is it? _

_ Johnny English _

_ Oh, classic!  _ Villanelle writes happily.  _ Mine is Austin Powers _

_ Hey, both of our favourite movies are silly spy films _

_ We have a lot in common,  _ Villanelle grins while writing _ , are you into spies? _

_ Yeah, actually,  _ Eve writes, _ I love all that stuff _

_ Me too _

_ You do? _

_ Yep, it’s an exciting world,  _ Villanelle writes, knowing Eve doesn’t realise she’s talking about the real deal. She wonders how Eve would feel if she knew Villanelle was working  _ against _ the spies. Probably not so good. Eh, well. Details. 

_ It is,  _ Eve writes.

It’s still for a while, nothing new appearing while Villanelle sips her champagne, but she doesn’t mind. It feels… amicable, somehow. 

_ So _ , she writes eventually,  _ what about you? Besides movie watching _

_Drinks with friends_ , Eve writes,  _ learning _

_ No hobbies? _

_ Learning is a hobby _

_ Okay, what do you like to learn? _

_ You’ll think it’s weird _

_ I won’t,  _ Villanelle writes, curious, _ I promise  _

_ I like killers _

That gets rubbed out while Villanelle’s eyes widen.

_ I don’t mean like that, _ Eve scrawls quickly,  _ I mean the psychology of it? Serial killers. Cults. Crime organisations. Females in particular  _

_ Female killers? _

_ Yeah, they’re interesting _

Villanelle feels her heart thud against her rib cage in a way she hasn’t felt in years. She and Eve truly are soulmates, she thinks, as her hand trembles around her pen. 

_ That’s really cool _

_ You think? _

_ Yeah! They are fascinating, I agree. Female killers are something I come across a lot in my work _

Eve doesn’t have to know that the female killers in question are just Villanelle and her multiple disguises and personas, but they’ll get to that one day. 

_ Me too _

Villanelle goes to reply but Eve beats her to it. 

_ I’ve never met anyone interested in them like I am, usually they think I’m weird. My husband thinks it’s just some funny little quirk I have  _

_ He doesn’t get it,  _ Villanelle writes.

_ No, he doesn’t. I can’t help what I have a passion for. He likes playing bridge, for fuck’s sake _

_ Why would you have a passion for bridge when you could have a passion for the inner workings of a beautiful woman who kills others? _

_Exactly._ Eve writes before quickly adding more. _Well no not exactly, not the beautiful part?_

_ I think any woman with that kind of drive is beautiful,  _ Villanelle writes.

_ Even if they literally kill people? _

_ I thought this was a judgement free zone _

_ No, it is, sorry,  _ Eve writes

_ I prefer the how, more than the why,  _ Villanelle writes, deciding to be bold, _ the why is part of it of course, but I am particularly fascinated by how they do it _

_ I like that too _

Is Villanelle imagining things, or is this entering sexy territory? There’s something charged in this conversation, and she thinks Eve might feel it too. It’s like she just  _ knows _ the other woman is getting worked up. Probably hating it, probably trying to repress it, but probably… 

Villanelle is getting worked up, anyway. 

She’s about to ask who Eve’s favourite killer is, trying to find room on her arm which is now covered in cramp scribbles, when Eve’s writing appears again. 

_ Have to go, husband is getting annoyed at me shutting myself in my office _

Villanelle frowns at that. 

_ Why does he care? _

_ He thinks I ignore him too often _

He will have to be taken care of, Villanelle decides with a sigh. 

_ Trouble in fake paradise? _

_ It is not fake  _

_ As your actual soulmate, I can confirm that it is fake _

_ Finding out I have a weird magical soulmate situation does not mean I don’t love my husband  _

Villanelle smiles. Eve didn’t tell her she wasn’t her soulmate this time. That is progress! They’re moving forward in their relationship.

_ Of course not, but it does mean there’s someone out there better suited to you. Someone being me, obviously _

_ This is insane _

_ No one said it wasn’t  _

_ This still makes no sense, you have to agree with that at least _

_ No point questioning what is plainly happening,  _ Villanelle writes, _ but you’re intrigued, aren’t you? About me. I can feel it. You like me, and you don’t even know me _

_ I don’t like you _

Villanelle laughs. 

_ Nice try, but we both know you do. I know you can feel what I feel every time ink touches skin. Like a red string tying our pens together  _

As the tiny patches of available skin remain pale and empty, Villanelle puts her glass in the sink then closes her curtains. Her arm eventually tickles at her wrist, the very first place Eve ever wrote to her. 

_ I’m going to bed, I have work in the morning _

_ Okay Eve, see you soon  _

_ Soon? _

And with a smile, Villanelle ignores her. She has a plane to catch. 

_ —— _

This area of London is cold and dull, of course, but Villanelle is a dash of colour against the grayscale watercolour landscape. 

She waits in the house on Fox Lane, as cold and dull as the rest of the houses on this miserable street, poised by the window, ready to move. She has no idea how long she will be waiting, maybe all day, but she’s willing to dig in for however long is necessary. 

There’s a body behind her, as bodies often are. This one is decorative though, a true middle finger to the rest of this boring street, bright and bold in red against yellowed sheets. It’s beautiful! A sight to behold. 

The man is dead, obviously. There is a lot of blood, also obviously. Villanelle had fun with this one. 

Villanelle had received the postcard only last night, telling her of a target on Fox Lane kept in an Mi5 safe house there. Her little information packet included a ticket to London, which was funny because she’d already bought a ticket days ago, fully committed to visiting Fox Lane on June 14th simply because Eve had written it on her hand. 

But with the postcard… the chances of the two being connected were too big to ignore. Why else would Eve be somewhere like this? Her hunch that Eve might work for the government grows as each second passes, sitting at the window and staring out at the street. Eve was the Austin Powers to her Dr Evil, except this time Dr Evil would win, because Villanelle is brilliant and also not bald, but she doesn’t have a metallic silver suit like he does, maybe she should buy one?

Oh. She is distracted. 

Villanelle glances at the man to get herself back on track. A neat but gaping slash to his throat killed him, along with a vertical slice down his middle just because. Villanelle has forced a pen into the loose grip of his left hand and the knife she used to kill him into his right, a gorgeous display of the tools that brought Eve and herself together, but it’s the artistry with the blood that really makes it. With the knife as her quill and the blood as her ink, Villanelle cut a message for Eve to discover up the length of the man’s inner arm, lettering messy but deep. Writing with a knife is tricky. 

She takes it in now, eyes tracing the drying blood.  _ The Calligraphy of Lovers  _ stands proudly in dark red against pale skin. Eve will hate it and Eve will  _ love _ it and hate that she loves it, her little female killer obsessed soulmate. God, what a kooky lady she’s destined to spend her life with! Villanelle sighs happily. 

The sound of an approaching car draws her attention back to the window, and she peers out through the sheer curtains to watch as a silver car pulls up. 

Villanelle doesn’t need to look twice when dark curls come into view, knowing instantly that this is Eve, this is her soulmate. A man climbs out of the driver’s seat, shaking his head fondly at Eve while the woman’s expression can only be classed as barely contained boredom. Probably not into the idea of checking in on a protected citizen. Villanelle can’t wait to brighten up her day with this little bloody surprise.

Villanelle leaves the room and heads out of a back window, sliding down the drainpipe with wide and unseeing eyes, a grin set on her face that won’t leave. She slinks around the house, keeping to the shadowed fence and then crossing the road to lean against a brick wall as the pair investigate the inside of the house. 

It’s only ten minutes before they leave, the man rubbing his forehead and speaking into the phone, and Eve-

Eve looking  _ stricken _ . 

Villanelle laughs softly at the sight. Eve has found her message and knows exactly who has been here. Is she scared? Confused? Does she think this is a one off? Or is she starting to build a backstory for ‘Vil’ the serial killer? Or maybe, maybe she already knows of Villanelle’s work, considering her role. Maybe she’s been following her kills for a while?

Villanelle’s heart skips at the thought, the thought of Eve traipsing around Europe to investigate her deaths while Villanelle has been none the wiser. Imagine! All this time, Eve was only a few steps behind! The fun they could have had if they’d known they were soulmates sooner. 

Yes, this is a good theory, it sits well with Villanelle. She pictures Eve with a board covered in her kills, red thread connecting each photo and map like the red thread that connects their hearts. 

She laughs again, let’s it carry on the wind. 

And Eve looks up. 

Their eyes meet. Villanelle feels it, really  _ feels _ it, like a pen hitting paper to write the first word of a masterpiece. 

Eve’s expression is torn. 

Villanelle tips her head in greeting, smirk on her red lips as Eve stares and stares. With a quick hand, Villanelle pulls a pen from her pocket and holds out her arm. 

Eve twitches, fingers of her left arm curling into a fist before flexing out. She lifts her arm slowly, almost as if unconscious of the movement. Her gaze is darkening as it pins Villanelle to the wall, dangerous against the suddenly paling skin of her olive cheeks. 

Villanelle chuckles, alive and giddy at the power her soulmate already holds over her. 

The sound of sirens is now audible in the distance, drawing closer and signalling to Villanelle that she needs to move, but still, she takes her time with the words she presses into her skin. She suspects that she won’t be hearing from Eve for a while now, the woman’s hero complex sure to put up the first wall between them being together. 

But Villanelle isn’t worried. They’re soulmates, after all. 

She smiles as she writes. 

_ It’s Villanelle _

**Author's Note:**

> The irony that I haaaaaaate ink on my skin despite having over 20 tattoos...


End file.
